


Soulful surrender

by Nightkeepyr



Series: Surrender [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: A little bondage, AU, Established Relationship, F/M, Private Room, Sequel, Sex Club, a bit of angst/anxiety, birthday fic, felicity first time domme, flipping the 'sub/dom', nothing too crazy though, oliver is the 'sub'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 07:36:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11459010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightkeepyr/pseuds/Nightkeepyr
Summary: Sequel to Wicked SurrenderOliver needs out of his head. Felicity gives him a glimpse of what it can be like on the other side of control.





	Soulful surrender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wereallstoriesintheend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wereallstoriesintheend/gifts).



> I've been wanting to write a follow up for awhile. It finally happened...not necessarily well though, but it happened, and in time for a spectacularly awesome person's birthday. :) HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LYN!!!
> 
> farmgirl1964 and RomanticMuse both said they'd like to see Oliver submit to Felicity. So I tried my hand at it...

 

\--->

 

Tonight was one of those bad ones.

One of those nights when the blood deep chill and hopelessness of Lian Yu clung to him, burrowed into his bones.

When he couldn’t shake the feeling of raw, blistered feet, and a ravenous, growling belly.

Where no matter how hard he scrubbed, red coated his hands, embedded in his callouses.

And memories, guilt, tore at him, threatening to shred him.

One of those nights when he was too close to looking for a fight, or deliberately pushing everyone away so he could be alone with his past. Let it swallow him, drown him, break him.

God, the need was so strong. So fucking strong.

And she knew it. Felicity knew it.

But she wasn’t running.

He didn't want her to. Even as the dark thoughts clawed at him, he knew he needed her...always needed her. Needed this thing between them.

 

‘Thing.’

 

Jesus, that didn't even come come close to describing the last few months. Or the way she trusted him, gave herself to him, over and over. Close to how she made him feel by submitting to his touch, his mouth, his cock.

That she saw beyond his scars, his faults, and let him into her body, her head, her heart, was still almost unfathomable to him, still filled him with awe.

And that was why he felt bad for wanting more, wanting to ask her for this. Especially since he'd worked her pretty hard earlier. Made her come over and over.

She knelt on the bed calmly, patiently - her thighs still pink from his scruff, glistening with the residue of her orgasms - watched him with no judgement, no fear in her gorgeous blue eyes, kept her breaths steady, giving him the time he needed.

She was fucking perfect. And he still didn't really deserve her, but he knew she would’ve walked a long time ago if she didn't want to be here, if she didn’t want him. She knew what she wanted, and he respected the hell out of that.

“I need out of my head.” He blurted abruptly, breaking the silence between them.

She blinked sluggishly, nodded slowly, as she continued looking up at him, looking through him.

“I can’t…” He trailed off.

“Tell me what to do, tell me what you need.” She said, and he couldn't help stepping closer, her voice drew him in. “I’ll do it...whatever you need, I’ll do it.”

“Felicity -”

“I see you, Oliver...I see it all weighing you down. I know tonight the ‘usual’ won't cut it, and that's okay...I’m here...I’m always here...let me help you.”

“Jesus.” He muttered.

Every day, she fucking slayed him. Every day.

“Please.” She asked softly, high and breathy, just the way he fucking loved it and fuck, it would be so damn easy to push her down on the mattress and sink back into her pussy right then.

But he wanted to give her what she was asking for, everything and anything she wanted, even if it meant making himself vulnerable.

He sucked in a shuddering breath and steeled himself, ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest, his throat.

“Show me what it's like for you. Flip it round, so I know how it feels, how I make you feel when you give in to it, to me.”

Felicity’s eyes flared, darkened instantly before her head bowed slightly as she processed his words.

Oliver’s mouth was so fucking dry, his pulse hammered in his throat as she pressed her palms down o to her knees. Still silent, still beautifully submissive.

“You really want that?” She asked him, a touch of shy disbelief threading through the question.

“I really want that with you.” He’d never considered ever asking anyone else for this.

“Oliver.”

“Only you. I won't lie...I’m kinda freaking the fuck out here, but there isn't anyone else I would want to try this with, Felicity...if it's not -”

“I can do it,” She interjected, took another deep breath, “I want to do it. I would do anything for you...this...god. I...yes. If you need this. We can try. I’m here.”

Oliver cleared his throat, overcome by the quiet strength in her eyes, in every line of her body.

He put his hand out, reaching for her, and she rose from the bed slowly, gracefully, kicked off her scarlet heels, and walked over to him, stopping when her now bare, robin’s egg tipped toes touched his, and placed her hand in his.

She was tiny in front of him, but formidable, and he couldn't imagine any part of his life without her in it.

She reached up and cupped his cheek with her free hand, tipped his head down, shivered as the bristles on his jaw scraped her soft skin.

“You want to feel it?” She asked him the very same question he’d asked her that night he’d followed her here to Oblivion, almost half a year ago, and his heart froze, then kicked up into double time, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as she kept their gazes locked.

“You want to try and get a glimpse of what it's like when you make me feel safe enough to go all in,” Her voice lowered, became huskier, “That haze...like I'm a little buzzed...or floating...like all the tension of the day, or situation is forgotten when you take control, like I'm right where I belong...and nothing can get to me...no one can get to me, no one but you?”

Nerves, and exhilaration, and arousal flooded his veins. He swallowed thickly.

“I...I...you feel all that?”

“You make me feel all that,” She emphasised, “...and more.”

Fuck. He couldn't speak. Hearing that he did that for her, having it confirmed, was a punch to his gut, in the best way. The best fucking way. Christ, he was filled with the deeper sense of pride, of honour, that despite his mistakes, his shortcomings, he could do that for her, give her a sense of belonging, of peace.

He’d take the chance, hand over the reigns to her, for a slice of that calm, tonight.

“You know it's not cos of you, right...the reason I…” He needed her to know she was enough.

“I know, Oliver. I know.”

He pulled her closer, till she rose up on on to her toes, and curved his arm around, and up her back, not letting go of her hand. He slanted his mouth over hers, taking charge of her mouth again, once more, before he tried to put his alpha in check.

She sighed beneath his onslaught, opened for him as he gripped the ends of her hair, and yanked slightly, tipping her head back more so he could dive in deeper.

Her fingers curled into the short strands behind his ear as he slid between her lips, stroked into her mouth, twining their tongues with purposeful, erotic glides, sucking, licking till she was breathless, completely molded to him.

Hundreds of kisses later, and she was just as goddamn addictive as the first time.

“God, Oliver,” She panted against his tongue, before pushing forward, and sucking his bottom lip into her mouth and releasing it slowly. “Okay...what exactly are we talking about here?”

“Tie me up...blindfold me.” He choked out.

Felicity’s mouth hovered beneath his as she took the time to analyse the tone of his voice, whether he sounded like that out of fear, or breathlessness.

“Both.” He answered her unasked question with the truth. “But I want both of those, Felicity.” He needed to push himself, tonight. See how far he could go.

“Okay.” She acquiesced quietly.

Oliver didn't move as she sunk her teeth into his sensitive flesh, and drew it back between her lips, increasing the suction. He held her steady as she nipped at him, pulled, started languidly writhing up against his body, rubbing up on his hardening cock, surged in, warmer, harder, gradually changing their dynamic as she hooked herself around his hip, and climbed up his body.

He grunted, but anchored them both as she wrapped her legs around him, tangled both hands in his hair, gripped as tightly as she could. She ran her tongue across his teeth, flicked the roof of his mouth, sunk into him even further, fusing them together till he wasn’t sure if it was his, or her heart thundering beneath his chest, in his ears.

She pulled back slightly, kissed first the one corner of his mouth, then the other.

“I’ll stop whenever you want me to, okay. Just....”

“I trust you,” he breathed quietly, solemnly, “If I can't, if it's too much, I'll tell you.”

She pressed soft, slow kisses all over his lips, along his jaw, her plush mouth shot tingles all over, from his scalp, down to the tip of his dick.

“Felicity.” He moaned, fighting the brief urge to grab her wrists, and throw her up against the wall, or down on the floor.

“I’m going to take care of you.” She whispered, before she parted his lips with hers, and sucked his tongue into the silky heat of her mouth, building up the pressure with each wet slide.

Oliver’s head was spinning, his body and mind caught in the confusing, but fuck hot, middle of wanting to take over and giving in.

He forced himself to focus on the ragged sound of Felicity’s exhales through her nose, then the slight bite of her fingernails through his hair; her hard nipples sliding across his skin; and the drops of pre-come rolling out of his slit, smearing his abs and her stomach; the smell, the feel of her arousal as she grinded all over the ridges of his cock.

He could feel himself let go a little more, feel that haze start to tug him under, and that little taste was intoxicating as hell.

“You still with me?”

“Yeah...god, you taste, feel so fucking good.”

She was sin, and innocence. And she was his.

Suddenly, she tightened her fingers in his hair, and yanked his head back, pulling a low hiss from him, the unexpected pain turned his already cloudy vision dark at the edges.

Felicity leaned in closer, and bit right over his pulsing vein. Hard enough to nearly break the skin, hard enough to mark him. And his knees damn near buckled. His mouth parted, but nothing came out. No sound, no air as his heart rate spiked beneath her teeth, and a almost lethargic, drugging sensation trickled down his spine, his arms.

Christ. Almighty. He wanted her marks. Wanted her to go at him till he turned fucking black and blue.

“More.” He managed to rasp, “Fuck...I need more.”

She dragged her bottom lip up the length of his neck, raising goosebumps all over his torso, then her tongue laved, reversed the path. She drew the skin just above his shoulders into her mouth, and sucked hard, rhythmically, pulling the blood to the surface in mind numbingly hot pulls.

She latched on to the front of his throat, in the hollow, then higher, branded him everywhere she could reach. He had no idea how he was gonna explain the bruising, but he didn't really fucking care. All he knew was each mark, each bite of pain was getting him fucking high.

“Goddamn, Felicity…” He mumbled.

She raised her mouth back to his, slowly untangled herself from him, and guided him backwards without tearing herself away.

She stopped them a couple of feet from the bed, and reached blindly behind him. Oliver knew exactly what she was aiming for, before he even heard the rattle of the chain - the suspension cuffs hanging from the ceiling of their private room.

He sucked in a deep breath, pulled the air straight from Felicity’s lungs as she felt her way up for the first cuff, and secured the wide, padded leather strip around one of his wrists. He felt a tiny spark of panic fracture his composure as she bound his other one too, and left the bottom of the chains hanging down.

She released his mouth and pulled back slightly, her laboured breaths hot against his lips, still technically kissing him, with so little room between them.

He still had his eyes closed, but he could feel her gauging him, scanning the lines of his face, to see how he was handling being tied up. He concentrated on the ticklish, delicate fluttering of her eyelashes, on the thrum of both of their heartbeats, and reminded himself over and over that this wasn’t Merlyn, in an abandoned warehouse. Or Fyers and Billy Wintergreen in a tent, on an island so, so far from home. Reminded himself that this was his choice. These chains, these cuffs only gave various levels of pleasure. They represented good things. He’d never have used them on her so many times if they didn't.

“God, Oliver. You’re doing so good,” She praised throatily, as she gradually extended his arms until they were slightly higher than his shoulders, and it filled him with warmth, made his exhale stutter, and his eyes open without a second thought. “You’re...so strong...you take my breath away.”

“Felicity.”

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Oliver...I'm just doing your wrists, okay. And you're not going anywhere.” She pointed up to the ceiling, scrunching her nose up, and he let out a quiet huff of laughter. God, she was ridiculously adorable.

And she’d remembered. He didn't know why he was surprised she’d kept that quiet, freaked out, sweaty, post nightmare, confession in mind. He’d woken up one night, not long after they first started sleeping in the same bed, shaking, fighting invisible bonds, with phantom chafed, bloody limbs, and she’d held him in the dark, without any expectation, just listened to his breathing even out, comforted him silently when all he’d said was that he needed his feet to touch the ground.

“Where are you right now?” She prodded tenderly.

“With you...with you, that night a few months ago, and all the nights after. With you, right here, now, thinking how fucking remarkable you are...how lucky I am.” He told her honestly.

“Oliver, no -” She whispered, looking at him through glassy eyes.

“Yes. This…” He shook his wrists, “...I wouldn't be able to do this without you...I know this is different.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“You give me more than enough, for the both of us.”

She pushed the ankle cuffs aside, and walked over to the side table,and he knew she wanted to fight him on it, but needed a moment to collect her thoughts.

When she turned back to face him, she held out the blindfold in her palms, like an offering.

“Still yes?”

The tendril of alarm grew stronger as he eyed the nondescript material in her hands, but he swallowed it down, and nodded shakily.

“Oliver.” Felicity bunched it up immediately. She could sense the nerves scratching at his throat.

“I wanna...try.”

“There’s no -”

“I won't know, unless…”

She stared at him, hiding none of her reservations, or her determination, none of her feelings for him.

“Okay...okay…” She conceded, uncurling the fabric.

She stepped forward, smoothed it out, and pressed an open mouthed kiss over his heart, before moving behind him.

The moment the whisper of silk settled against the bridge of his nose, he froze. Overwhelmed by the abrupt shock of helplessness. His mind flung back into nights where the dark was so absolute, it nearly consumed him. Oh, fuck….fuck. He was locked in the memories, in the fear. And he didn't know if he was gonna be able to get out. His heart pounded, and he jerked the restraints, trying to outrun the inky blackness -

Something registered on his inner arm. Something prickly, scraping up towards his forearm, hard enough to make him aware of the discomfort. Then a sharp, hot sting licked up his neck, and a familiar, welcome, scent, mixed with an underlying tinge of salt, teased his nostrils. Oliver latched onto it fiercely. Let it, let her bring him back.

He felt her press up against his front, till she was plastered to him, from his shoulders to his toes, her heat blanketed him. She stood there silently while he timed her breaths against his skin.

Then her fingers carded through the hair at his nape, she slowly worked the pads of her digits down the back of his neck, around, down to his collarbone.

He focused on the ten points of pressure on his pecs, on her mapping out every one of his scars on his chest, down to his abs.

She moved back up to his shoulders, taking her time, and ran her hands up his arms, over the cuffs, and the backs of his hands, in between each of his fingers, over each of his knuckles, to his nails, and along the swirls of his prints.

All his other senses heightened as Felicity touched him, tattooed him with her kindness, her patience, her adoration.

She pressed a path back down his inner arms, down his sides, trailed over the ridges of his ribs, down to his hip bones, dug into him with the perfect amount of force.

He shivered as she wrapped her arms around him, and did the same to his back. She rubbed her lips just beneath his armpit, a touchingly intimate, chaste kiss, as she caressed every burn, every inch of puckered, damaged skin, and everything in between, traced the notches of his spine diligently, slowly driving away the cold, the hunger, the blisters, the dark.

Oliver’s knees shook, emotion fisted his heart as she moved back up his throat, and cupped his cheeks. She ran her thumbs along his cheekbones, up the sides of his nose.

“Felicity.” He ground out, through ragged, but steadying breaths, and slumped forward, but she held him up. Like she always did.

“Oh my god. Oliver.” She sobbed.

“You’re here.”

“I’m here...I’m so sorry...I'm here.” She promised, reaching up for the blindfold.

“Leave it.” He rasped out, and he could feel the slight hesitation in her movement, but her hand lowered back to his arm almost straight away.

“This -”

“I should be able to do this.” He wore a goddamn hood, and mask every night. Their relationship started with them wearing fucking masks. And the cuffs hadn’t affected him half as badly. It didn't make any sense.

“It’s not the same...you know it's not.”

“I want it to be the same.”

“But it's not…” She leaned forward, “There’s no shame in this. None. At all. This...you trying to force yourself isn’t going to help you. We can try again...but not now...please - this isn't how it is for me...you don't hurt me, you don't let me hurt myself…”

He jolted involuntarily when he felt the dampness on her cheek. The salt...she had cried for him, hurt for him. And she still wasn’t running. Something in him cracked, gave way, and allowed him to really hear her, to accept that it wasn't working.

“Felicity.”

“I can't...you trust me, right?”

“I do.”

Oliver’s heart clenched as she pulled in a couple more fortifying, shaky, breaths.

“Then it's coming off.” The words were tempered with steel, with resolve, and it sent an unexpected jolt of awareness, of heat across his belly, through his dick. Jesus, he belatedly realised he was even harder than before. His body was clearly on board with her near him in any way, despite his mental block.

“Okay.”

“Okay...” She exhaled, a little bit surprised, a lot relieved. “Keep your eyes closed.” She said firmly, giving him the more manageable alternative, an illusion, security, as she untied the cloth from the back of his head.

He couldn't deny the relief he felt once the barrier was taken away, the release of some of the psychological weight.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good...good.” She moved back closer, “Do you want to stop?” She checked in, her voice a little reedy.

He took a needed moment to mentally shift through where he was at, before answering.

“No.”

The sudden pause in her breathing told him she wanted to ask if he was sure. And the fact that she didn't, oddly eased his anxiety a bit more. She was choosing to have that faith in him, he way he did when he took her under.

Once again, he was her choice, and as always, it made him deliriously happy. He couldn't hold back a grin. Didn't want to.

“God, your smile.” She sighed, curled her fingers loosely around his neck, and pressed her lips to his jaw, just rested them there for a moment. She moaned softly as she worked them along his scruff. She lingered over his dimples, carefully held her breath when she brushed right next to his ears. She kissed every part of his face till his hips canted forward, and he was straining for her mouth. “You’re amazing, Oliver...sometimes still can't believe you're mine.”

Oliver groaned, tilted his head, blindly tried to coax her lips towards him, but she only moved lower, bit down under his chin; sent more blood pulsing down to his cock, his balls.

She sunk her teeth back into his neck. It felt different, edgier, sharper, with his eyes shut, and he recognised now, that he was once again present in the here and now, back in this room with her, that she must've bitten him like this earlier, to help untether the hold of his memories.

She shifted slightly, lifted her head, and gripped him by the throat. She clutched her delicate fingers over the tendons of his neck, and pressed down just had enough to make him conscious of his lung capacity; aware that he had to work a little for some air.

His head lolled back, his eyes rolled behind his lids as a wave of ecstasy swept over him, hit him up with a more potent variation of the haziness he’d experienced before.

The rush of blood in his ears was so powerful, it felt as though his skin was gonna split. His chest was tight, so tight, demanding his submission.

Her tongue slid over his nipple, and she sealed her mouth over it. The clasp of her teeth anchored him, kept him in place while she sucked without mercy.

Pleasure and pain hummed through him as she moved across his chest, still holding his throat.

Oliver's cock was fucking damn near dripping, steadily leaking out pre-come. Everything between his legs felt heavy, taut, as she sucked harder, in seemingly endless pulls, drawing his nipples tighter.

Goddamn. This was insane. They usually weren't anywhere close to this sensitive.

“Fe-li-ci-ty...please...oh...f- fuck...please.” He pleaded hoarsely. Christ, he wasn't even entirely sure what the hell he was asking for.

His hands shook against the cuffs, needing...something. But she kept him on that edge till all could say was her name, again and again.

He was beginning to understand her craving, why she gave in to him so readily, why at this point she was already flushed and panting. It felt fucking good, and she hadn’t even really got going yet.

He had a dazed flashback to the first time he’d felt, tasted, smelled, how responsive she was to this type of expression, and release; to the labels they personally didn’t use. To how quickly she burned, melted beneath his fingertips, his mouth; how goddamn beautiful she was wearing his knots on her wrists. A fucking fantasy come to life.

He wondered if she was experiencing any of the mind trip, the high he’d felt seeing her open up, and fall apart because of him.

That train of thought shattered as Felicity pinched one nipple while she laved the other. She twisted the hardened bud, and Oliver could feel them both throb as her mouth kept up the relentless suction.

More pleasure. Heat. Pain. And back again. The lines blurred so erotically, all he wanted to do was suffocate in it. In the solace, the relief.

Felicity’s fingers dragged down from one overly sensitive, wet nipple, down to his abs, and dug into the ridges of his six pack painfully, not letting him submerge just yet, compelling him to stay on the precipice.

“ Oh...Jesus...fu - ck-” His voice cracked on a whimper. A goddamn whimper.

“How does it feel?” She asked, breathing velvet, honey, into his soul.

It took a few seconds for him to scramble through his thoughts enough to try and make some damn sense.

“Like- I don’t know...if I can take anymore.” It was almost too much. But, god help him, he didn't want her to stop either.

“But you can?” She asked quietly, confidently, using the way he spoke to her against him. “Can you, Oliver...tell me.”

Jesus Christ. The inflection coating the words. It wasn’t even full dominance though, not an order, or demanding...but it was a motherfucking head rush, and he was fucking spiralling.

“Can you take more of me doing this…” She bit down right next to his nipple this time, clamped around the skin on his pec, and dragged the heel of her hand up the inside of his thigh, and up, pressed it over the base of his dick.

“Yesss.” He hissed.

Felicity curled her fingers around his girth, tightened her hold to a couple of levels below squeezing, and groaned as he twitched in her palm, and thrust forward into her grip, urging her to move. But she did do anything to alleviate the need, the ache.

She took her time sucking welts under her Bratva ink, across to the other side and all but squirmed in her hand, growing desperate for some more friction.

“Stop that,” Felicity chided, steeling her tone. “I’ll move when you're ready.”

“I am fucking ready.”

She exhaled a wicked chuckle that reverberated through his bones.

“You’re nowhere near where I want you.”

“Oh, god.”

“You asked for this, Oliver. I'm just giving you what you want...going to make sure the only thing holding you up are those chains,my hand...going to see if I can get you to beg, see if you’ll beg to come.”

“Fuck...me.” He ground out through clenched teeth.

She bit down again, and Oliver shook his head, through it back slightly in frustration as her fingertips only fucking fluttered teasingly against his shaft.

He raised his knee, then the other, shook it out, trying instinctively again, to get her to move up. Or down. Just a little. He’d take either fucking option. Goddamn. What the hell was happening to him?

She hardened her hold on his throat, and Oliver let out a surprised wheeze as his airway constricted for a second, before she left up.

She wasn't fucking around, and damn if that didn't work him up even more. He could feel the sheen of sweat build up on his temples, down his nape, under the cuffs.

“Felicity.”

“I’m right here...do you need me to stop?”

He shook his head again.

“Tell me, Oliver.”

God. “No...please...no.”

He grit his teeth as Felicity languorously started stroking to halfway up his cock. It felt good, but it wasn’t quite enough.

“You need more?”

“Yes.”

She hummed with satisfaction, and gradually picked up the pace, then stilled, just kept her hand wrapped around him while he cursed. She waited an indeterminate amount of time and kicked off again, kept at the start and stop, drive him goddamn crazy, routine a few times, never varying the speed or pressure, didn't move any further up his shaft.

His balls were throbbing, slit leaking, pre-come rolled down to her fist. But she still didn't go any fucking higher. Or lower.

“Is- is this payback...for earlier?” He grit out in frustration.

She didn’t give him a definitive answer, just kept him suspended in that wicked purgatory till his thighs burned, his nerve endings were screaming for release. Then she stopped for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“You’re...killing...me…” Jesus. Was that really his voice? “...Felicity...ple-a - oh my god!”

The cry tore from his lungs as she finally, fucking finally started fucking her fist over his cock. Like she had been waiting for the right moment. Oliver’s mouth went slack, tiny, almost silent rushes of air escaped him, helplessly. His back arched, strained as she worked him over, loosened her grip for a devastating second, before flying over him faster, deeper, then abruptly slowed back down. She dragged her hand from his base to his tip slowly, so goddamn fucking slowly.

She rubbed her thumbs just below his crown, swiped over his cockhead, dipped onto his slit to gather more of the fluid pumping out of him.

Oliver’s legs were trembling so violently he didn't know he long he was gonna be able to hold on. The orgasm was right there. He was so close, so close to shutting down, and just giving in to the primal need to let go.

But then she stopped again. Let go of his dick completely.

It took a few moments of him to catch up the fact that the promise of oblivion of release had been ripped away.

“Oh...fuck. God.”

“You’re not coming in my hand, Oliver.”

“Jesus christ...why...why…” He whined breathlessly.

“Because I don't want you to.” She purred in his ear.

“F-uck.” He groaned, too close to unravelling. His heart pounded wildly as she let go of his throat, and pulled him down for a kiss that was all tongues and teeth and silent begging for more, even though he knew he wouldn't get it yet.

“God, Oliver. I wish you could see yourself right now. Check in...you still with me?” She asked, nibbling back down his neck.

“Always.” He mumbled.

“Oliver?”

“You’re...really fucking...good at this…” Oliver inhaled raggedly. “I’m okay...I’m here...don't stop...need more...whatever you’ll give me.”

“I don’t want to-”

“You won't…you’re not...I need this. I need you...just you…” He rambled half incoherently, repeating the last two words, so caught up he didn't realise her lips had disappeared off his neck till he suddenly felt them branding his hip.

He jerked forward unexpectedly, groaning as the heat from her mouth spread to his taint, his ass.

“I’ve got you.” She soothed him as the sound of ringing metal echoed around them, digging her nails into the backs of his thighs, holding him, scorching a path down his leg, then back up the other.

He was expecting her to tease him again, to draw it out, so he wasn’t prepared for her flattened tongue, or the slow, dragging lick across his slit, or her groan as she lapped the saltiness coating him, before she wrapped her lips around his cock.

His eyes snapped open as she took him deep, and he swayed as he saw her on her knees. It always hit him hard in the gut seeing her this way. She was breathtakingly beautiful with her eyes wide, staring up at him through the tears that welled in the corners, as he nudged the back of her throat.

Oliver's breath stuttered, his brows pinched as she swallowed around his head, the convulsion vibrated up his length, buckled his knees, and he yelled out helplessly as the involuntary action caused him to almost choke her.

The tears ran down her lashes, towards her ears, and he tried to pull back - even though he wouldn't have normally - but she moved her hands to his ass, gripped him tighter, keeping him in place, with none of her usual submission on her face. She may have been bowing before him, but she was in control, ready, willing, determined, as she breathed through her nose, and watched him with a devilish glint in her eyes. She was gonna make sure he didn't fucking forget she was running the show.

“Your mouth. ..your goddamn mouth.” He panted, his gaze locked on her, unable to look away now he was back balancing on that knife edge, so near to tipping over.

The muscles in his back, beneath her hands, clenched, as her mouth fell open wider, and his cock reappeared inch by slow inch, spit slick from her tongue, the insides of her cheeks.

Oliver grunted as her lips slipped over his tip, shuddered as her breath fanned his skin.

“You feel so good...I miss your come on my tongue, down my throat.” Felicity moaned, dropping him from her mouth, dialling him back from that merciful climax once again, staring up at him like an angel withholding the secrets of heaven.

“Felicity.” He growled.

“Shit.” She whispered, unable to hide her response to that sound, “Soon, you're almost there...you're taking it so incredibly.”

“God...please, please.”

She let out a satisfied hum, and leaned in, suckled him gently, traced red hot circles over the vein throbbing against her tongue, before sucking him back in, groaned in approval as he twitched against the roof of her mouth.

“Goddamn it.” He cursed as she closed her throat around him again, swallowed him in further, wrecked the fuck out of of him, nice and slow, till his balls felt like they were gonna burst.

He knew it was coming. It didn’t make it any easier though, didn’t stop his chest constricting, or the low, pained howl she she pulled from him when she released him from her mouth. He struggled for breath as she stood up. His legs were fucking jelly, as his hips rolled uncontrollably.

Felicity loosened the slack of the chains and lowered him down to a chair he hadn’t even heard her drag over. His eyes were so bleary, and he could feel himself drifting as she straddled his lap, keeping too much distance between his cock and her pussy for his liking. He could barely keep his head up.

She checked over his face, slowly lifted herself up, reaching for for the end of the chains. She draped them over his shoulders, and he hissed tiredly as their cool weight pressed against him, giving him the sensation of being held down, but not in a bad way.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” He replied groggily. God, all he wanted to do was come.

She crisscrossed the interlocking metal rings over his chest and held on, tugging so he could feel the pull against his wrists.

“Please...please...need...it.” He stuttered, unable to say much more.

“Are you ready to come, Oliver?”

“Fuck...yes...yes…’Li- city…” He slurred, “...please…”

“Ssh...ssh...it’s okay. I’m here. Jesus, Oliver...you’re so...I’m going to take care of you. I promise.”

“I- please...can’t...oh...g-od.”

Oliver’s brain completely fritzed, he damn near wept in relief as she sunk down onto his cock, her bare pussy clamping him like a vice. His skin was too too hot. Too tight. He couldn’t fucking see. Could only feel her spasming around him, smell her.

“It’s okay, Oliver...come...please...let go.”

“F- ‘licity.”

“That’s it. I’ve got you. God.” She moaned in his ear, setting him off.

It felt like a white out. A black out. Some kinda out. He just knew that he was spinning, that his entire body was shuddering as he pumped streams and streams of come into her.

“Oh, my god.” She stammered, his orgasm pulled another one from her, and all Oliver could do was hold on, pray he didn’t somehow buck her off as the vortex claimed him, ripped him under, detonating fireworks across his body, wiping away everything bad, setting him free as he came and came. Christ, he couldn’t stop.

Felicity held on, held him as he sagged against her, shivering through the last of his release.

He was a boneless mess when it eventually subsided, when he came back down. They were both sweaty, sticky, but neither of them made a move to separate. She quietly untangled the chains from his body, and framed his face with her hands. He tilted his head up, needing her mouth on his, and she didn’t deny him this time.

“Thank you,” He breathed into her, “God, thank you.”

“You okay?”

“More than okay...Damn, you were perfect. You are perfect.”

“Oliver.”

“Thank you.” He said again.

“How do you feel?” She asked tentatively, as she undid the cuffs, and he knew she didn’t mean physically, “Did...did it help?”

He shook his wrists out, and she softly rubbed her fingers over the impressions on his skin.

“So much...so much...I feel...warm...safe...loved. I feel you all over.”

“Oh, god.” She lifted his wrist, replaced her fingers with her lips.

“Come here. We can talk later...just wanna stay here with you, like this.”

Felicity fell into his arms, and sighed, nuzzled below his ear, as he kissed her hair, her temple. She felt amazing. Like home. And he knew that so long as he had her, he could handle the cold nights, the dark days, he could handle almost fucking anything.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank for reading (and commenting if you so wish). I know it could be better, but hopefully it was okay to get through.


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